


Horrible Ideas and Other Things

by Tabithian



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Animated), DCU - Comicverse, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Animated Series), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic ideas and whatnot in various fandoms and pairings that have been abandoned because I'm really a terrible person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sideways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few scenes from that time Tim was a police detective and so was Dick and then there were shenanigans, I guess? I started this around the time I wrote the Tim is a P.I. 'verse, so there are similarities. And things. *hands*

Tim's always been a little. Odd. Because really, no one stalks Batman and Robin, and certainly not for _fun_. (Who _does_ that?) But then there's that one moment, the one everyone has has had at some point in their life. Batman and Robin take down a gang and do their usual disappearing act and for some reason Tim doesn't follow them to see what they do next or go home to develop the pictures he took.

Maybe he was tired or maybe he was curious, whatever is was, he sits and watches the police arrive, lights flashing and sirens wailing. He doesn't remember if it was because he was tired or just curious, but he stays around. He watches Commissioner Gordon and his people handle the aftermath. Sees Gordon sigh, looking up at the rooftops something like a mix of exasperation and amusement on his face because _Batman and Robin_. (Tim's very familiar with that feeling.)

And it's like something clicks in Tim's mind, this realization that Batman trusts Gordon. That Gordon is probably the only real ally he has in the Gotham police department, and that Gordon does what he can to protect Batman and his people. (Gordon's not an idiot, out of everything he is, he's not that. He has to know something after working with the man and his partner for years.)

Tim's small for his age, he's always been small for his age. It's never been a hindrance, has, at times (when he needs a good place to hide where Batman and Robin won't see him) been an advantage. He's smart though - he figured out who Batman and Robin were when he was _nine_.

There are so many vigilantes and heroes out there already, and Tim is. Tim is small, but he's smart. So smart. There are so many vigilantes and heroes out there, but sometimes that isn't enough. Gotham has Batman and Robin and their people - she has so many protectors. What she needs is more people like Gordon.

His parents don't understand, but then again they've never understood. He's okay with that, really. He loves them and they love him in their own way, and as much as they disapprove (they want him to be safe), they don't interfere (much).

Tim's parents expect him to fulfill his duties as their son, heir to the small empire that makes up Drake Industries, and he does, because this one little (stifling, hurtful) thing is the least he can do for them. (Familial obligation like a noose around his neck.)

Tim's smart and small for his age, but. This? This he can do. 

******** 

"Drake."

Tim looks up at Montoya's voice, eyebrow raised. "Montoya."

She smiles. "Gordon wants to see you. Something about the Bell case?"

Tim bites back a groan, scowling at the smirk on his former partner's face. He's been working on that case for months now. Nasty, ugly. Drugs and dead prostitutes with hints of mob involvement, and he has the horrible feeling this is going to be a case he can't crack, which.

He's young, yet. Barely a detective and hadn't that made the others happy? A kid like him - young, privileged - getting promoted up the ranks so damn fast like maybe it wasn't skill or ability so much as it was money and power and connections because it's Gotham and things like that happen.

Tim knows there will be more cases like this one. Unanswered questions, crimes going unpunished because he didn't find that vital piece of evidence or talk to the right person or ask the right questions. It's almost enough to make him regret his decision, because this life, it's not easy. It's a thankless existence because this is Gotham and a badge doesn't automatically make you a good guy, but it sure as hell makes you a target. 

"Yeah. Hey, kiddo." Montoya comes over, drops a hand on his shoulder. "You can't let this get to you, okay? We've all been there."

Tim smiles, tired, frustrated. "I know, " he says. "But."

Montoya's smile turns soft, understanding. "It's still hard."

That's one way of putting it, sure.

Gordon's door opens and he sends a scowl in Tim's direction. “Would you like an engraved invitation, Detective?” 

Tim stands, catching Montoya's grin from the corner of his eye. “No, sir,” he says, biting back a smile. 

Gordon snorts, jerks his head towards his office. “I don't have all day, you know.”

“Sorry,” Tim says, sliding past him and - 

“Detective Tim Drake, meet Detective Dick Grayson from the Bludhaven police department.” Gordon closes his office door and walks over to his desk, leaning against it and looking at Tim and Dick. “Grayson's been working on a case that appears to have ties to the Bell case.”

Oh, Tim doesn't like where this is headed. He can feel Dick watching him, lips curved in a faintly amused smile. 

“The two of you are going to be working together for the foreseeable future,” Gordon says, something terrifyingly like amusement in his eyes as he watches Tim and Dick. “Try not to turn this into a media frenzy.”

Dick smiles, easy and open and this is a horrible idea. A really, really horrible idea, and not just for the obvious reasons. 

********

"So," Dick says. "You're part of the task force that's supposed to bring Batman and his birds in?"

Tim glances at him. "Yes." It's a little more complicated than that, but it's nothing he needs to know.

Dick makes a face at that, fiddles with the radio. "Any luck with that?"

Tim snorts, signals and takes a left. "Your guys having any luck tracking down Nightwing?" He gets a vindictive little thrill at the look that crosses Dick's face. "Thought so."

Dick scowls at him, but. There's a thoughtful quality to it. "You're an odd one."

Tim brakes at a red light and gives Dick a look, eyebrow raised. "Coming from you, I'm not sure what that means.” 

Dick rolls his eyes. "No, it's just." He shrugs. 

"What?"

"Bludhaven," Dick says, watching Tim closely. “Kind of famous for corruption.”

"I like to think Gordon's a good judge of character,” Tim says, easing his foot off the gas when the light turns green.

"What?"

Tim smiles. "He might have issues with you, but he trusts you." With _Tim_ , he doesn't say. Drake Industries may not be as big as Wayne Enterprises, but it's a force to be reckoned with, and Gordon knows it.

Dick gives him a considering look that Tim isn't really sure what to make of. "If you say so,” he says after a long moment.

Who knows? Maybe it's Gordon tossing the two rich boys together and hoping things don't blow up in his face, but Tim has a feeling it's more than that. (Gordon's not an idiot.)


	2. Footprints on Our Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/29588977171/ifeelbetterer-crimson-sun-i-seem-to-have) just makes me want that one fic. You know, that one with Coulson and his infatuation with Captain America and that asshole Clint Barton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not-fic for an Avengers fic I'll never get around to writing because I'm terrible like that. /o\

Phil falls in love with the idea of Steve because he's Captain America and Phil's hero. But then he gets Clint assigned to him and Clint is just. Everywhere. He has a terrible sense of humor and acts like things like boundaries and personal space bubbles happen to other people. It's like Clint goes out of his way to make Phil's life more difficult than it really needs to be, okay?

(Seriously, Barton, jumping off skyscrapers and other high places when you have zero powers/parachutes is not okay. Also, stop terrorizing the junior agents by hiding in the ceiling at SHIELD HQ. Fury may think it's good training for them, but giving the junior agents phobias has HR riled up.)

When they find Steve Phil gets to be a creeper because it's Captain America and Phil's a trusted SHIELD agent and for God's sake, Barton, the ceiling is not your natural habitat, _get down here_.

In between there are missions where Clint and Natasha go out and save the world and maybe get shot or stabbed or exploded and Phil. Phil is tired.

Tired of watching his people go out and get torn up like that for people who will never know or care. Tired of seeing the way they look when they come back from those missions - not the bruises or cuts of broken bones, no, those will heal. He's tired of the look in their eyes, mission accomplished, but at what cost? He knows about the nightmares - he makes it business to know, because he's the one who sends them out there - on Fury's orders, yes, but he sends them.

So Phil watches Steve sleep when he can't do anything for his people.

"Hey, Cap," he says. "Natasha and Clint just got back from their mission." He smiles to himself because he knows how this looks, how it has to look to others. "Can't tell you anything about it, very hush hush you know." He sighs, shoulders slumping. "They came back." (And he knows there will be a day when they don't.)

Steve doesn't say anything - he never does - but it makes Phil feel better because he's talking to Captain America, and he's Phil's hero and this is probably going to end up on his psych eval, but that's fine. Fury doesn't give a damn if you're crazy as long as you do your job and do it well.

And then Steve wakes up and Phil lays that horrifically creeptastic bit about watching him sleep on him and thinks it must be a miracle that he didn't add, "Did I mention the part where I talked to you? It was like I was writing in a diary. Without the sparkly gel pens and stickers."

Then there's the thing with Loki and the spear and Fury with his secrets within secrets and when the invasion's over and Fury goes to visit Phil he briefs him on everything that happened after Loki's escape.

Phil looks at him. "I'll have to put in a complaint about this, sir," when he hears about his Captain America cards.

Fury rolls his eye and tosses Phil's cards - perfectly fine because Fury's not an idiot, he's not going to have Phil mad at him because he ruined his cards. "In a world that has Life Model Decoys, you don't think SHIELD can mock up some cards for a bunch of dumbasses to have feelings over?"

After some time has passed and Phil is back on his feet Fury is all, "Come get your handler, Avengers, he's got a mission for you."

And then there is the yelling and punching of walls and of punching bags (highly recommended, unlike the walls) and the Avengers with all their feelings all over the place because Phil is not actually dead and Fury is a bastard and -

"What the hell are those things? They look like - "

"I don't care what they look like, Stark. They're eating the Empire State Building. SHIELD would like the Avengers to do something about it."

And then after the giant globs of who the hell knows what are defeated Steve signs Phil's cards. There's a moment fraught with feelings and other things like that because Steve feels horrible that a good man had to die before he got his head out of his ass.

"I didn't die, Captain Rogers."

Fury told him he coded twice before they got him stabilized, but he doubts that would make Captain America feel better.

"Call me Steve. Please."

Phil smiles this small, crooked thing. "Stark was right, you know," Phil says. "Fury's secrets have secrets."

Steve makes a face because _Tony_ , he's still trying to figure that one out, but. "I'm still sorry it had to happen."

Phil watches him walk away, and looks down at his card bearing Captain America's - his hero's - autograph.

And then, "Barton, I thought we talked about this. The ceiling - "

"- Is not my natural habitat, I know," Clint says, sliding the ceiling tile aside to jump down. Light, graceful. He stares at Phil for a long moment. "Fury knows - "

" - If he does something like this again you're out." Phil finishes for him because he knows Barton, Clint.

Not like Captain America, first the idea of the man and then the reality, so different from what he was expecting. (An ideal built up by propaganda and speculation, a young boy's hero worship.) He _knows_ Clint with his horrible sense of humor and total disregard for boundaries and personal space bubbles. The joy he derives from tormenting the junior agents. The nightmares.

"Natasha too," Clint says, chin raised, arms crossed over his chest.

And.

"Noted," Phil says. "Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?"

Clint's eyebrows shoot up. "Is there. _Is there anything I want to speak to you about?_ "

Phil raises an eyebrow, waits, because it's _Clint_.

Clint who sets his shoulders like he's on a mission, goal in sight, and walks right up to Phil. Smirks when he passes through boundaries and personal space bubbles that never seemed to stop him. "Sir," he says.

"Barton - "

"Sir."

Phil's thought about it, he's not blind, or stupid. From asset to Barton to Clint to this. "Ill-advised," he says.

"You know how well I follow the rules, sir."

Regrettably, yes.

"Dinner?" Clint asks.

"Clint - "

"Sir." Clint smiles, and.

"Dinner," Phil says, and it's not giving in, it's moving forward.


	3. Thieves in the Henhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written a long, long time ago ~~in a galaxy far, far away~~ after reading too many fantasy books in a row. 
> 
>  
> 
> The fantasy AU where Kon is going to the capital city to become a castle guard or...something and meets Bart along the way. Bart is a whatever in training (Bart wants to be everything ever, but he gets bored or something else catches his eye and he just really wants to learn everything ever. That's not weird, right?) 
> 
> And then they meet the _thief_ and everything is terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hands*

There are rumors that the youngest prince has been kidnapped and is presumed dead, and a few weeks later the older princes also vanish, leaving the people uneasy because how does that happen? 

And then one day Kon and Bart are in a moderate-size city looking for something for Kon to buy as a gift for his foster parents and they run into this thief. Who is trying to steal some animals an old woman is selling as pets. 

The thief's clothes are dirty, torn, ragged. He looks like he's had a long journey before this.

Kon tries to stop him, but the thief is just, “I'm not stealing, just taking back what's rightfully mine.” 

“That's still stealing!” Bart says, because his current interest is the laws that govern their kingdom, and has gotten his hands on some books about them. “You could bring your case before the magistrate - “

“And say what?” the thief asks, which is surprising. 

Kon would have thought he'd flee on being discovered, not stop to debate law. 

“This old woman,” and he looks at Kon, openly mocking, “who bears a resemblance to what everyone pictures a grandmother should be, has stolen my fa- my pets? How would I prove it? What evidence could I offer?”

Bart makes a frustrated noise at each new question, scrambling to find something to help – it's Bart, of course he'll help a thief if he thinks said thief needs it.

“You could - “

“The courts see animals as property. When I have no proof to show my ownership,” the thief makes a disgusted face at that last, “and she does. Whose side do you think they'll take? A lowly thief's, or a kindly old woman's?”

“So you'll steal them, like everything else?”

A hard smile. 

“Be glad you'll never know what it's like,” the thief says. Cocks his head. “Do you intend to stop me?” 

There's a dangerous edge there, but curiosity as well. 

Kon glances at Bart who looks seconds away from offering his help in whatever capacity the thief needs, and at the crowd around them. City guards at their posts looking bored and unconcerned with the goings on of the marketplace. To the thief who is watching them, him, with quiet intensity.

“I think I see something my foster parents would like over there,” he says, taking Bart's elbow in his and leaving the thief to his own devices.

“But - “

“I need your opinion, Bart,” Kon says, tugging him along.

Bart tries to pull away from Kon, but he has him in a firm grip – not painful, just enough to keep him in hand. “Kon - “

“Let him do what he wants,” Kon says, sliding Bart a look. “It's not our business.”

“Oh! Right, of course, of course. Oh, look, these are beautiful!” Bart says, dragging Kon towards a booth with glass charms.

********

And that should be the end of it, except that when Kon and Bart continues their journey to the capital they run into the thief again. 

Kon hangs back, watching the forest. He feels eyes on them, and when Bart runs to the downed thief he sees something - a bird – take flight, raucous cry echoing oddly through the trees. 

“He's hurt,” Bart says, crouched next to him, hands fluttering over the unmoving thief. “Kon, what do we do?”

Leaning against the base of an old oak, arm around his ribs, the thief watches them. 

“What happened?” Kon asks, taking one of his shirts, old, worn from his pack to be used for bandages. “Bart we need water.”

The thief manages almost manages a smile. “A thieves quarrel, what else?” 

There's an edge there, but Kon ignores it in favor of seeing to the thief's wounds. 

Once Bart's in motion he gains confidence, things he's gleaned from his travels and reading about healing and wounds coming into play and Kon finds himself demoted to helper. Bart cleans and bandages the smaller wounds, stitches the deeper ones with a determined expression.

The thief watches all of this with an assessing look on his face and thanks Bart when he's done. Watches Bart run off toward the nearby stream to wash the thief's blood form his hands and clothes, hands shaking.

“You didn't have to help,” the thief says, quiet. 

“Your friend.” He stops, looks angry, frustrated. “You friend should not have had to do that.”

“No,” Kon says, studying the thief. “He shouldn't have.”

The thief looks up, sharply and winces. “Thank you for your kindness, you can go on your way. Good deed for the day done.”

And. Kon glares, steps forward – freezes when something in the trees beyond them growls, low and angry. Warning.

The thief. Tenses, worry and something else on his face as he turns to face the direction the growling seemed to come from. “I thought I told you to leave.”

Another low growl, and then. A fox steps out of the trees, larger than the ones Kon remembers seeing around the farmstead. Dangerous looking, the tip of one ear missing along with signs of scars and pale lines of fur from past fights.

“Stupid,” the thief says, as the fox comes up to him, nosing gently at his arm, wrapped in the remains of Kon's shirt. “You'll be killed.”

The fox snorts, nipping gently at the thief's hand when he reaches out to pet it, and turns its attention to Kon.

“He's.” The thief frowns, eyes darting to Kon for a brief moment. “He's a friend.”

Kon raises an eyebrow at that, the thief categorizing him as a friend, but it seems to calm the fox. “Is that - “

“One of the...pets the old woman stole from me,” the thief says, smiling when the fox snaps its teeth at him, eyes narrowed. 

Kon opens his mouth to say something - why would the woman steal a fox from a thief when there are so many to be found in the wild? - when Bart comes stumbling through the trees. He's laughing at a bird flitting around his head playfully.

“Bart?”

Bart turns to him, smiling. “He found me by the stream!”

The thief groans, burying his face in his hand and the fox lets out a whine as the bird, black save for a burst of blue on its chest and along the outer edges of its wings, settles on a low branch of the oak.

Kon stares. “Another of your 'pets'?”

The thief nods, looking up to where the bird is peering down at him. “I told you to go home.” 

He looks at the fox, which is curled up next to him, head resting on his knee. “I told all of you to go home, are you that stupid?”

Kon frowns, at that, looks to Bart and sees a plump little songbird perched in a small tree across the way. 

“I didn't think robins could look so angry.”

The thief actually laughs, tired, like he's at the edge of his limits. “You'd be surprised.”

Looking at them, two birds, a fox, and a thief worse for wear, Kon really doesn't think so.

“What's your name?” Bart asks, sidling towards the thief, fingers twitching like he wants to pet the fox, which is eying him. “I'm Bart, and that's Kon.” 

Bart smiles invitingly.

The thief smiles. “...Alvin.” 

Kon's eyes narrow as the fox lets out a snort, holding still when Bart lightly touches its ears.

“Alvin?” Bart asks, getting braver, fingers scratching the fox's ears when it doesn't seem to object. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The thief looks like he isn't sure of that. “And mine, yours.”

Oddly formal, for a thief.

********

And then Bart gets the fact that Tim and his 'pets' are headed for the capital -

“Better things to steal, of course,” Alvin says, when Kon asks why, with this little smirk, like he knows how Kon feels about his chosen profession.

“We're headed there too!” Bart says. “But uh. Not to steal. Just. Kon wants to joins the castle guards, and I.” Bart stops. “I want to see the library there.”

“The library?”

Bart nods. “I don't have a calling yet.”

Kon shrugs when Alvin looks at them oddly. 

“Kon said his calling is to become a castle guard, I don't know what mine is yet,” Bart explains.

So Bart convinces Alvin they should travel together to the capital – safety in numbers and Alvin's' still hurt, and this way they can get to know each other better! :D

Kon's not sure, but Bart has a point, and Alvin reluctantly agrees. Things are fine for the first few days, but there are things Alvin says or does that don't quite fit in with his profession, or maybe Kon's paranoid.

The birds fly alongside them or perch on their shoulders, while the fox, Red, trots next to Alvin. 

“Creative names, those,” Kon says, watching Bart laughing at Nightwing and his acrobatic flying. 

Alvin shrugs, an odd little smile on his lips. “Not my doing.”

********

And then there are adventures and Kon starting to trust Alvin and his odd pets – the way Alvin talks to them like they understand what he's saying and aren't listening because they think what he's saying is stupid.

One day they get attacked by a group of bandits and Alvin turns out to be a surprisingly good fighter - “You think being a thief is all about being sneaky?” - and his pets are clearly as crazy as he must be because they help.

Afterward, Kon overhears Alvin not yelling, precisely, but definitely scolding them for getting involved in the fight.

“They could have been hurt! Killed!” Alvin says, when he sees Kon lurking. 

“They were worried,” Kon says, wondering why he's defending Alvin's unusual pets. 

“They shouldn't be, I can take care of myself.” 

Kon snorts, not even mildly surprised to hear it echoed by Red. “Clearly.”

They take a day to rest and Kon thinks it's more than a little odd, now that he thinks about it, the way Alvin and his pets interact. 

Nightwing and Robin flit away to return with herbs held in their feet - 

“Healing herbs,” Alvin in says with an unreadable look as he scowls up into the branches of the tree the birds are perched in. 

Red goes off in search of game and returns with a pair of fat rabbits and a smug air about him. 

“Our supplies were running low,” Alvin says, taking the rabbits from the fox. “Still, you could have been seen, and then where would we be?” 

He looks to the birds, watching with interest.

“All of you, idiots.” There's a note of fondness in there, hidden beneath the worry and faint annoyance.

********

When Kon asks Bart what he thinks of it all, Bart shrugs. “Maybe Alvin trained them to know what herbs to look for?”

And when they would be needed? Animals weren't capable of that kind of reasoning, surely?

“As for Red?” Bart shrugs, looking over to where Alvin is roasting the rabbits over the campfire. Red sprawled at his feet, Nightwing perched on Alvin's shoulder and Robin nowhere to be seen although there is no doubt he's nearby watching. “He was probably hungry.”

And decided to catch enough for all of them to eat? Although, maybe he was trained to hunt for Alvin.

“It's odd,” Kon says, corner of his mouth ticking up when Nightwing tugs at Alvin's hair and then flies away when the thief makes as if to grab for him. 

There are other odd things that happen along the way, and Kon starts to get suspicious of Alvin – well, more suspicious because there are times. It's almost like he's wearing a mask, that _Alvin_ is the mask.

Like when they're haggling with the owner of an inn for the price of room and board for the night and Alvin is this odd sort of charm and grace – maybe it's something he's learned as a thief, but even then it's strange. (He knows things, too, that a typical thief shouldn't.)

“The Captain of the Guard would like you,” I think,” Alvin says one day, after the two of them have been in another argument. There's an actual smile on his face. “Strong morals and the kind of loyalty you show are rare enough in the capital. He could always use good men like you.”

**************

...And then adventures and shenanigans and fighting and Kon finding out Alvin is the missing prince, and there's been a spell cast on the other princes and whatnot becaue ~evil villain wanting to take over their little country while the ~~Bruce~~ King is away. 

Then the kissing, and Kon is like, "Ugh, why?" because Tim's brothers are jerks and so, so mean to him and he has to wear super fancy clothes when he appears in public with Tim and all he wanted was to become a city guard, is that really too much to ask? 

(No, by the way, it is not.) 

Bart keeps changing his mind as to what he wants to be every few weeks, but he really, really loves the library in the castle and Tim's family is awesome. (Terrifying, but way cool.)

....IDK.


	4. Figure Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That crossover AU with the Teen Titans cartoon? Also time travel and shenanigans because reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hands*

Tim's starting to notice a pattern. It seems that whenever someone needs a favor, something happens to him. Good, bad, somewhere in between, but something almost always happens.

There was the time he was turned into a girl. (Pretty much a right of passage for Robins, Dick had told him.) The time he was thrown into another dimension. (Technically, this has happened more than once, but so far only once when a favor was involved.) The times he's been turned into an animal of some kind. (More often than not a cat, and more often than not there's an awkward moment with Selina that ends with a bow around his neck as she delivers him to the manor or one of the others out scouring the city for him.) 

And now there's this.

He looks around at the warehouse, broken windows and broken crates and battered looking cardboard boxes. Rats staring at him from their hiding places. Looks at the case he'd been touching when Luthor's device had activated, the only thing to travel through to wherever he is now, and regrets answering his phone earlier.

Jason's, “Hey, baby bird, I think I need a favor,” and Tim's understandable wariness. 

Jason's abandoned warehouse with the secret sub-basement.. “This is Gotham. There are more of these things out there than you'd think.” 

The unmarked truck with the lowered ramp and a machine the likes of which Tim had never seen before bearing an all too familial logo on the underside of a support bar. (Because why not stamp your name all over something like that if you were a megalomaniac?)

“Luthor’s definitely up to something,” Jason had said, patting the odd-looking machine he'd confiscated thanks to an anonymous tip. “Trying to move this through Gotham, though? Fucking terrible idea.”

No more so than Tim agreeing to check out the machine, because. Bad idea all around, and now he's wherever the device sent him.

He'd been distracted at the time, looking at a case and the suit inside. He remembers seeing it before, from Bruce's files and the news the few times they'd managed to catch him in action. From Gotham's rooftops once or twice before they'd realized it was Jason under the mask. (Black and gray and red all over.)

“Jason?”

Jason had looked over, and smirked. “Ha, oh, man. You should have seen Dick's face the first time I turned up in that.” A little wistful, “Wish I'd gotten a picture. Goddamned priceless.”

The only thing Tim knows for sure is that he's still in Gotham, going from what he can see out of the warehouse's windows. Whether it's his or one in another dimension remains to be seen. He needs to get out, do some poking around to determine for sure, but there's a bit of a problem with that.

He's not wearing a suit. He'd been in his civilian clothes when Jason called him, nothing in his voice hinting that there might be a reason for him to get to one of his caches around the city to change. He was tired when he got the call, not looking forward to a side-trip that would cost more time between Jason's favor and a bed to sleep in.

“Stupid,” Tim says to himself, cracking the case open. “Stupid.”

Red X's mask stares back, unimpressed.

********

Naturally, Tim runs into Jason first. 

“Fuck off, Dick!” Jason yells, firing a few rounds at Tim.

Tim evades and perches on the fire escape above him, ready to move in case Jason feels like shooting at him again. (It's Jason, odds are good.)

“Jason?”

Jason, and it _is_ him, if a few years younger, snarls. “I warned you, Dick!”

Tim knows that tone of voice, so he's up and moving as Jason fires.

He might be in more trouble than he thought. 

********

Definitely more trouble than he thought because luck is nowhere in sight for him tonight. (Ever.)

He was trying to find somewhere to regroup, get his bearings, when Dick swooped down on him, black and blue and so very angry.

“Jason!”

Because there was that brief period of time in between Jason's resurrection and the appearance of Red Hood when a new (old) thief showed up in Bludhaven, in Gotham.

Tim dodges Dick's fist and blocks his kick, but doesn't see the follow-up punch in time and goes down hard. He rolls up on one knee and snaps out a couple of shuriken at Dick's feet. He's not aiming to hurt, disable. Just buy himself some breathing space. 

“Nightwing.”

The mask distorts his voice, and Dick doesn't know it's him – probably doesn't know him at all (yet?) - yet, so it's not like that would matter. But Dick thinks he's Jason, and Jason thinks he's Dick and all Tim wants is to go _home_.

Dick pulls to a stop, escrima sticks in hand. “You're not Jason.”

Tim cocks his head to the side. “No.”

“Who are you, then? How did you get the suit?”

And, oh, there he goes again, escrima sticks coming back up in a ready stance. It's reassuring, really, that Dick goes from ready to kick the crap out of Jason to kick the crap out of someone who may have hurt him in the blink of an eye, and that says so much about all of them.

“A friend,” Tim finally settles on, deciding that's safest. 

Dick just stares at him. “A friend,” he repeats, clearly skeptical, because _the suit_. (Last worn by Jason, because Jason's a bit of a bastard, and Tim really does make the worst decisions sometimes.) 

“...It's kind of a long story,” Tim says, because true.

Dick just stares at him for a long moment, and then sighs. “It has been a slow night,” he says, with a look on his face that clearly means he's not including Tim in there. “I think I have time to hear it.”

 

********

...And then shenanigans and adventures and Jason owing Tim _forever_.


	5. With a Little Bit of Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternative take on [Out the Door and Back Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/689664) I've been fiddling with for forever and never really got anywhere with because that thing where I ran out of plot? *hands*
> 
> /o\

When Tim gets a call from one of his associates from a previous case, the last thing he's expecting is _this_. 

It's a little – no - a lot like a bad movie, Tim's life. Complete with scenery that would be better suited to some kind of bad pastiche of a noir film and not the total farce it clearly is. 

“What do you think we should do with him?”

A terrible, terrible movie.

“What do you think?” Tim scratches his chin, the goatee that he'd grown for his current case itchy and irritating and he regrets letting Steph talk him into it. “We kill him.”

That gets a little snarl out of their captive audience and, “You will pay for this.”

Tim resists the urge to sigh because really. The new Robin is all-over terrible at witty banter, going more for the blunt threat and this is going to end badly, isn't it. It's only a matter of time before one of the Bats tracks the kid here, and if Tim and his buddy are still here at the time it'll just end in pain and humiliation and Gordon giving Tim _that_ look again.

“What, really? You want the Bats coming down on us?” 

Tim's associate goes by Lucky, which is a terrible nickname because he's anything but. Tim's only known him for a year, and in that time his nose has been broken and re-broken at least half a dozen times. From what Tim's seen of him, he always gets the short end of the stick and capturing Robin was some kind of fluke.

Tim moves closer to Robin, walks around him, searching. 

“You ever hear what happened to the other Robin?” Tim asks, looking up at Lucky. “The one before the blonde?”

Lucky just stares at him. “There was more than one?”

Tim _looks_ at him. 

“Of course there was, moron. You think this kid is the same one that showed up all those years ago?” 

Because no, and someone paying even the smallest bit of attention to things would have noticed. Especially when the last Robin was female.

What happened to him?” Lucky asks, like he doesn't really want to know the answer. 

Fair enough, Tim doesn't want to give it. He drops a hand on Robin's shoulder, corner of his mouth ticking up at the low growl that gets him. Robin tries to shrug him off but the one thing Lucky's good at is knots. The movement shifts the hood of his suit aside, just enough for Tim to catch a glimpse of a a small blinking light.

Which begs the question, what is Robin doing here? Tim knows the Bats have multiple trackers on their person at any time, but according to Steph and Cass, they're usually better hidden. 

“Joker happened.” 

Tim lets that sink in for a bit because Joker's still around, still terrorizing Gotham and her people. 

Lucky stares at him. “And he's still alive?”

Tim squeezes Robin's shoulder and walks toward Lucky. “Bats don't kill, right kid?”

That gets him a glare, and Tim remembers what Steph told him. Bats don't kill, no, but this kid wasn't always a Bat, now was he?

“You seriously going to kill him? He's a _kid_.”

It's kind of nice, really, knowing that there are people like Lucky out there who still have morals. Tim's met far too many who haven't.

“Hand over your gun if you're too chicken to do it,” Tim says. 

There's movement at the edge of his peripheral vision, not one of theirs, which means time's running out. There's only so much Tim can do to control this situation and not break cover. The Bats may have most of Gotham's criminal underworld running scared, but a well-placed bullet will any of them down. 

Lucky hesitates, uncertain. Not the brightest, no, but he's stubborn. 

Tim grabs the gun out of Lucky's waistband because he's an idiot who thinks people don't shoot themselves in the foot doing stupid things like that.

“Hey!”

Tim turns toward Robin bringing the gun up as the skylight comes down, raining shattered glass and an extremely unhappy Nightwing on them. He sighs as he hears Lucky go down behind him, a flash of yellow and black and purple at the corner of his eye and this. 

This is not going to be fun at all.

He turns back at Lucky's choked off yell of pain just in time to see Nightwing's fist coming towards his face.

********

“He got you good, didn't he?”

Gordon's looking at him, something like sympathy in his voice because Nightwing had hit hard and fast, and Tim's face is a study in the hematoma spectrum right now.

Tim smiles, or tries to. His face isn't really co-operating. 

“To be fair, I was pointing a gun at Robin.” 

And then there was everything he'd said beforehand that he's sure Nightwing and Batgirl must have heard.

That gets a sigh from Gordon. Weary, resigned, because he's learned how Tim thinks, works.

“You did it on purpose, didn't you?”

Tim just shrugs. Gotham's already lost one Robin, it can't afford to lose another. Maybe they'll be a little more careful after this.

********

“I'm going to need a favor.”

Steph looks up from her desk, familiar song playing softly from the computer speakers that explains the look of intense concentration.

“Are you playing _Robot Unicorn Attack_ again?”

Steph grins. “Things have been slow lately. I get bored.”

Better this than out terrorizing the general populace, at least. 

“Is Cass around?” 

“What's up, Gumshoe? Carmen Sandiego steal something again?”

Tim gives her a look as he pulls up a chair. “That stopped being funny a long time ago.”

Around the time Tim made Detective, actually, but. Steph's Steph and nothing's going to change that.

“Lies, it's always funny,” Steph says as she closes out the screen and turns to give him her full, undivided attention. 

“Oh, ouch,” she says, making a face. “But you kind of deserved it, you know.”

It looks worse than it is and most of the bruising is gone, but there's a cut under his eye that's probably going to scar.

“You need to keep better track of your people,” Tim says, eyebrow raised.

Steph winces. “Obviously,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Brat Wonder doesn't listen very well.” 

Tim can only imagine what that must be like.

“Shut up, Gumshoe.”

Tim smiles. “I didn't even say anything.”

Steph points a finger at him. “Oh don't even try that with me, Tim. I know you too well.”

Tim's known Steph since the days he used to chase Batman and Robin around Gotham's rooftops. Before she'd taken up where Jason left off.

“And now you're getting broody,” Steph sighs, like Tim's killing her with his broodiness. “Spill. What do you need?”

“You know about the case I'm working, right?” Tim asks.

Of course she does, she's a Bat. 

“Of course I do,” Steph says. “I'm a Bat.”

“I think I've got a lead on something, but I can't get in without raising suspicion.”

Steph cocks her head to the side. “Are you asking me what I think you're asking me?”

 

 

(...AND THEN SHENANIGANS I GUESS. *HANDS*)


End file.
